


Kings of Our Faults

by 1diot_5andwichwastaken



Series: Blood Splattered on the Walls (I was a Fool) [1]
Category: Minecraft (Video Game)
Genre: Angel of Death Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Angst and Feels, Author Is Sleep Deprived, Blood God Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF), Canon-Typical Violence, Family Feels, Fluff and Angst, Gen, I'm Sorry, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, L'Manberg is Gone, No Slash, Tags Are Hard
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-21
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-18 09:40:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29607513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1diot_5andwichwastaken/pseuds/1diot_5andwichwastaken
Summary: Life was never pretty for people of the SMP, It was cold, silent and dark, no one watching over them, because no one ever cared. A lie.They didn't deny it, instead they nursed their demons, fed them with rage and blood, watched them grow bigger, stronger until the glorified warriors of the past fell into madness.The demons followed, crushing dreams and hopes of the young people that carried the whole world on their shoulders, keeping it safe just because they cared.A mask with a heartless smile, a netherite sword glowing in the dark, a drop of blood on the floor.This world was home, home for so many legends and stories, past traitors growing morally whiter than heroes.In this world, an abandoned enderboy tried to find peace.
Relationships: Mentioned Ranboo & Phil Watson (Video Blogging RPF), Mentioned Ranboo & Technoblade, No Romantic Relationship(s), Ranboo & Toby Smith | Tubbo
Series: Blood Splattered on the Walls (I was a Fool) [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2175255
Comments: 2
Kudos: 19





	Kings of Our Faults

One thing Ranboo learnt was that he was a fool. 

There wasn't such thing as good and bad people, there was no such thing as family, no such thing as friends and foes. He knew he was stupid, walking the streets of a ghost town, believing people could change; stop their lifelong habits, end all sides created by blood and vengeance, peace and love.   
The Dream SMP was deadly, like a poison slowly dripping into your drink, a dagger in your friend's hand, not even flinching when blood stained their made-up face and perfect clothes, smiling at you, when the cold steel dug into your flesh. It hunted down all kinds of spirits, breaking the youth until their smiles feel from their faces, never daring to laugh again, never trying to love again. 

There was no such thing as a family on this godforesaken, wasted land that so many people called their home. It was nothing more than ash and dust, stained forever with despair and blood, tales of legendary loyality told by the birds who flew high, carefree, their feet not touching the scorched soil scarred with destruction.   
There was no such thing as a family, the cold stone walls silently watched as a father killed his son, brother stood against brother, a castle stood still in the middle, judging their choices.

Love was a thing you wouldn't hear here, forgotten in the wars that drained all the colour from people whose journey just begun, yet was ending so fast.   
They achieved so much in their lives, and lost even more, breaking down, falling apart, slowly fading into the abyss, all their dreams getting tangled in a dreamcatcher, bloodied and crooked into a plain smile.  
Snowflakes decorated his hair and clothes, melting into small drops of water on his cheeks, every single one burning more than the latter. 

It was cold out there, but not colder than the blood god's log cabin, red eyes staring him down, silent whispers dying out every time he turned around, his neon eyes spotting the angel of death that always seemed to follow behind, close enough to stain the pure snow red and green.  
But inside Snowchester it was warmer, warmer than by the glowing fire or a fireplace, warmer than in a middle of a desert.

Snowchester was home, it wasn't just a building that the enderman hybrid could call his house. It was a home, a real one. It was a home with a chocolate milk ready on the counter, blankets piled on a couch. A place where his bee-loving friend, accompanied by his trusty steel shovel would be found shoveling the snow, as angry at it as if it killed his mother. 

The journey was long, extremely uneventful and tiring, he never really thought about how long it took him, he never really cared until he tripped for the first time.   
Why would he care, when there were people that already knew the feeling of a cold diamond blade hitting their heart, merciless eyes of their loved ones staring them down, a smile dancing playfully on their lips.

He visited the little country nearly every single day, even if it was just to run away from the cold of the Arctic Anarchist Commune, break out from the harsh, netherite-hard stare of Philza's eyes, his chipped wings trailing after the avian, pathetically hanging down, their once beautiful feathers matted, dirty and soaking with water or blood.   
There were no hooves in the little cottage, no trails made by the feathers of the hanging wings, no blood on the snow, no riches laying around in chests, protected by only the presence of a god, whose list of murders listed longer than the bible, longer than the history of a scrap of land they used to call L'manberg.   
Their L'manberg.

A beam of light just above the level of trees, a gentle glow, dyeing everything around in a nice shade of yellow, trays of lights from fireplaces or burning torches flooding the forest nearby and uncovering the tall boy as he walked past the stone walls protecting the city.   
The first building that came into his field of view was a tower, a pretty one, as everything in the village, but it made him shiver and squeal with sudden burst of memories, definitely not ones of the nice kind.

Someone shouted his name, a familliar figure making their way through the deep, sparkling snow and Ranboo smiled, waving at his brunet friend, chocolate hair a mess, mechanical oil smeared over his clothes and face.

\- Hi Tubbo! Were you working on something? - a stupid question, but a very welcome one, saw as open doors, making the smaller boy smile contagiously, starting to ramble about his new ideas and plans.

The kid could never sit down and just do nothing, but neither could the bi-coloured enderman, so it wasn't much of a bother.   
A smile and a familiar face, it was all it took to make him feel better, not so out of place as the two powerful warriors made him feel. The Anarchist Commune was a two men army, cold and merciless like a snowstorm, freezing hearts insted of bodies.

And even If he wanted to forget the past, it refused to forget him, creeping through the night, silhouettes in the trees smiling at him blankly.

But soon he found out, his demons were afraid of chocolate milk and late night talks accompanied by the calm cracking of wood in the fireplace, even the destructive force seeming to calm down, slowly fall asleep.   
The clock wasn't ticking, there was no rush, no time. And the time was both fast and eternal, the blankets warm and glasses empty, talking in a hushed tone about past mistakes and stories.  
It was alright, better than alright, almost unbelievably peaceful in the contrast to the dragon bones and broken swords that were scattered on the way back to their past home, wind in the past empire howling like the sound of clashing steel, memories of past fights slowly being washed away.

It wasn't possible to have a happy ending in the land of no beggining and no end, but they all liked to act like there already was. They won, even if crimson started glistening in the eyes of so many people like ash covering the sky the day everything that was left of their beloved city was only a mere crater.  
But it wasn't time for it to matter, it never was.


End file.
